


Be Strong Now

by rabidchild67



Category: White Collar
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-17
Updated: 2012-12-17
Packaged: 2017-11-21 07:58:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/595352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabidchild67/pseuds/rabidchild67
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter is trapped with an injured Neal and must get him to safety. Trouble is – only Neal can get them out!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Be Strong Now

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for [this prompt](http://whitecollarhc.livejournal.com/24867.html?thread=210723#t210723) from my pal ivorysilk. Title is a lyric from the song “While My Heart is Still Beating” by Roxy Music.

“Neal, hey Neal,” Peter said, his voice a gentle murmur in his lover’s ear.

“Mmmmf,” Neal protested, flinching from the contact of Peter’s rough beard against the sensitive skin behind his ear.

“Wake up.”

Neal relaxed against Peter, let his head loll back against his shoulder, and opened his eyes reluctantly. His lids were so heavy, he could barely keep them open. His thoughts were sluggish, his muscles leaden with exhaustion, and Peter’s chest against his back provided a welcome warmth.

“We have to try again, Neal. Think you can manage?”

“Mmm,” Neal replied. “So sleepy.”

“I know, baby,” Peter said, failing to keep the urgency out of his tone. He hated doing this to him, but there was nothing else he could think of. “We have maybe an hour to get out of here before Swarz’s men get back. You’re the only one who can jimmy this security lock. Think you can try again?”

Neal’s eyes opened and his head swiveled forward, able to focus once again on the exposed wiring just above his head.

Peter sat on the floor of the basement cold storage room that had become their prison, propping Neal up bodily in front of him, the conman leaning back heavily against his chest as he did so. Two days earlier, Peter had been abducted by Del Swarz, a wealthy industrialist who was about to go on trial for racketeering, fraud, money laundering and a host of other charges. Peter and his team had originally cracked the case with the assistance of the man’s ex-wife, who was in protective custody during the trial. Swarz had hoped to beat the location of the witness out of Peter, but when he refused to give it up, Swarz had pulled his trump card: Neal. When Swarz threatened Neal’s life, Peter had given him the information immediately, though the sadistic bastard had still allowed his men to beat and eventually stab Neal. It was a horror he would not soon forget.

They were thrown down here an ago, while Swarz and his men went to take care of their business. But Peter knew they’d be back to finish them off soon if they couldn’t manage to escape, because the safe house he sent them to out in New Jersey was very likely empty, and should have been since the day he went missing, if the team followed the protocols he’d put into place.

“You have to try,” Peter coaxed, replacing the bit of spring from a discarded ballpoint pen in Neal’s nerveless fingers, and helping him lift his arms. “I can’t do this, only you can.”

“Only me,” Neal slurred, his head falling to the side, eyes slanted up at the exposed circuitry.

“Only you.”

Neal took a deep breath, sat forward, crossed his legs in front of him and got up on his knees. “Gotta get out,” he said, focusing on the work. “Gotta try.”

The knife wound between his ribs was the most serious of Neal’s injuries, deep and jagged, and Peter had been pressing his own shirt against it to staunch the bleeding. They’d managed to expose the inner workings of the door’s electronic lock minutes before, but then Neal had grown lightheaded from loss of blood and passed out on the floor. It was a frantic few minutes before he woke, and Peter now kneeled behind him protectively, ready to catch him if he should pass out again. Blood was now oozing freely from the wound again, and despite temperatures cold enough for them to see the breath coming from their mouths, Neal’s entire body was covered by a thin sheen of sweat as he bent his head to concentrate on the job at hand.

“Can’t find the ground wire for the microcontroller,” Neal said softly. “Can’t see the circuit board.”

“Not enough light?”

“Yeah. Shit.” He bent his head, closed his eyes. “Elizabeth will be so mad.”

“What?”

“Tonight’s pizza night. Remember - she wanted to try that place over by the bridge… I can’t make this out.” His left hand was shaking with the effort of holding it up.

Peter laid a steadying hand on Neal’s wrist. “Close your eyes. Visualize the schematic.”

Neal nodded and closed his eyes. “It’s…”

“Where is it?”

Neal’s lips moved slightly as he thought, and then reached out with his finger and pointed, opened his eyes. “Here.”

“Do it.” Peter leaned forward and rested a hand between Neal’s shoulders encouragingly.

Neal jammed the spring into the proper spot, twisted a wire, and the locking mechanism on the door opened with a faint _snick_.

Neal visibly relaxed, the tension draining from his back and his limbs, and swayed slightly on his knees. Peter let out the breath he’d been holding, but his own relief was short-lived, as he had to catch Neal when he sagged back against him. “Neal!” Peter twisted slightly, easing Neal onto the floor on his back. “Come on, we still have to get out of here, you can’t crap out on me now.”

Neal seemed to be having trouble focusing his eyes. “I... really… need to.”

“Ten minutes. Give me ten minutes so we can get out of here, and I promise you can pass out for the rest of the week, OK?”

It took him an alarmingly long time, but eventually Neal replied,“Sure.”

Neal gritted his teeth as Peter hauled him to his feet and pulled his arm over his own shoulder. “Hold on to me, that’s it,” Peter said, sliding a supporting arm around his waist, and helping Neal through the door and down the dark corridor to the steps at the end. They paused at the bottom of the stairs that led to the exit, and Peter took a deep breath.

“Crap, that’s a lot of stairs,” Neal muttered, sagging against Peter. “Stairs weren’t part of the deal.”

“I’m amending the deal.”

“On what grounds?”

“On the grounds that we have no choice. And the whole getting-you-out-of-mortal-peril thing.”

“A solid point. Let’s go.” Neal lifted a leg with difficulty, laid it on the first step and pushed off with his back leg. Peter leaned his shoulder under Neal’s own, lending as much support as possible, pushing Neal when necessary, catching him when he threatened to fall. By the time they got to the top, both men were breathless from exertion, but Neal’s legs were trembling with the effort of keeping him upright and they soon gave out.

“No, no, come on, come on,” Peter muttered, letting him lean against the wall. “The door is right there.”

“I can’t,” Neal whispered, sliding down the wall until he was sitting up against it. “It’s too hard. Peter, I can’t make it. You need to go.”

Peter caught a glimpse of the smear of blood that trailed down the wall from Neal’s contact with it and closed his eyes. “Listen to me.” He took Neal’s chin in his right hand to get his attention. “We don’t leave a man behind.”

“This time you have to. I can’t do it, Peter, I can’t.”

“I need you to.”

“I can’t. It’s so hard, Peter.”

Peter moved his hand so that he was grasping the back of Neal’s neck, and he pressed their foreheads together. “I know it is, baby, I know. But I’m not leaving you, and I can’t carry you. I can help you, but you have to do this, Neal. Please, you have to be strong. Be strong for me.”

“It hurts.”

“I know, but it would hurt me more if you give up now. Please don’t give up, Neal, please. I need you too much.”

“I’m sorry, Peter, I’ll do better next time.”

Peter couldn’t help a small laugh. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll let it slide next time if you – Neal?” Peter pulled away and looked down on his lover. He wasn’t moving. “Neal!” Peter moved his hand and shook him gently by the shoulder, slid his fingers to the pulse point at Neal’s neck. He had a pulse, but had passed out again, and now Peter had to work out how to get them both out of there before Swarz and his men returned.

He stood and went over to the door, opened it, and looked around. The door opened onto an alley between two warehouses, and the coast seemed to be clear for the moment. They were somewhere near the water – the sound of seagulls made that obvious. Peter returned to Neal, grabbed him under his arms and began to drag him through the door. The going was slow, and Neal was heavy, but soon Peter was able to get him to the corner of the building, panting with exertion by the time he did.

Wanting to get an idea of where they were, he left Neal on the ground and hurried to the alley that ran along the two warehouses. It was wider – more like a small road, and Peter saw a line of similar warehouses lined up on either side. Off to the right, and near what appeared to be a main road, was a small gate house that appeared to be unmanned. A car passing by on the street beyond it made Peter duck back, but to his relief, it did not enter the area. He was reminded of the need to get them away, however, and returned to Neal, taking him under his arms again and dragging him to the gate house, which at least provided some cover for them.

“Please be unlocked,” Peter muttered as he tried the door to the gate house, and of course it wasn’t. The door gave in after three hard kicks.

Peter dragged Neal into the tiny space – barely larger than a tollbooth – and lay him gently on the floor. He closed the door behind him, hoping its ruined state wouldn’t bring them too much unwanted attention before help arrived – and then returned to Neal’s side. He checked the knife wound – alarmingly, still bleeding sluggishly – and his pulse – thankfully, still strong.

“Let’s get you outta here, hmm?” he said gently, and reached for the phone on the tiny desk.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

_Thank God,_ Peter thought, and continued. “My name is Special Agent Peter Burke, with the FBI. I have a man in need of emergency medical attention.”

“Is he conscious?”

Peter glanced down at Neal and his stomach dropped – somehow hearing the calm voice of the operator ask him this question made it more real. “No,” he said, his voice wavering. “He’s been stabbed and he passed out a few minutes ago.”

“What is your location?”

“Well, that’s the thing, I’m not sure.” Peter cast about the tiny desk and found no paperwork that gave him a clue to their location – not so much as a promotional pen. “Are you able to trace this call?”

“Sir, we can, but that will take a few minutes. In the meantime, please tell me what is wrong with your friend.”

Peter told the operator everything he could, and after a few minutes, the trace was made successfully. “Sir, please stay right where you are, police have been dispatched and will be there in less than five minutes.”

Peter crouched down and ran a shaking hand over his eyes, sighing with relief. “Thank you.”

Peter hung the phone up and got to his knees beside the fallen conman. He caressed his unconscious face with the back of his hand and Neal sighed. “Neal? Are you back?” He couldn’t keep the tears of relief out of his eyes. “Let me see those big blue eyes, huh?”

Neal opened his eyes and stared at nothing for a beat before his mind registered where he was. He looked at Peter. “Where are we?”

“Somewhere safe, for now. NYPD will be here soon.”

Neal nodded, relaxing, and closed his eyes.

“Wait, you’re not going to pass out on me again, are you?”

“It’s easier.”

“For who?”

\----

“Neal, hey Neal.”

“Mmmmf,” Neal protested. He flinched as Peter’s stubbled chin brushed against his ear.

“Wake up.”

“So sleepy.”

“You want some breakfast? I’m making apple pancakes.”

Neal opened his eyes and blinked at the bright sunshine in the Burkes’ bedroom. He rolled over onto his back, flinching as his stitches pulled, and squinted up at Peter, standing over him wearing nothing but a pair of boxers.

“You’d better take him up on that offer,” Elizabeth said. She raised her head, which had been lying on Neal’s arm until a minute ago, and rested it on her hand. “He doesn’t make them that often.”

“What’s the occasion?”

“Well, you coming home from the hospital, for a start. And Hughes made me take another week of leave, so for once, on a Monday, I’ve got nothing to do.”

“But make pancakes?”

“Something like that.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Peter grabbed his robe and headed out of the room, Satchmo at his heels.

Neal sighed. “That is an amazing man,” he said.

“I am inclined to agree, but what makes you say it now?”

“When we were… you know.” El flinched – she still had difficulties dealing with the ordeal. “He just… when those men threatened to hurt me, he gave them the information they wanted, El. He didn’t pause, didn’t think twice. They could have hurt him, and he wouldn’t have given them a thing, but the minute I was in danger, he just gave it up.

“And after… when I was hurt, he just… he never let me forget for a minute that he would save me, and I never doubted it. I’ve never had anyone just take care of me like that.”

El leaned over and kissed the tear that had run from Neal’s eye into his hair. He turned his head and she kissed him on the lips. “That’s what people who love each other do, hon.”

Neal smiled, and not for the first time, felt perfectly safe, content, and happy with the Burkes. “Then I’m the luckiest guy in the world.”

\----

Thank you for your time.


End file.
